New England Ice, 15 March 2003
Pogue Mahone
Pogue Mahone
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The gully. Its name was Paddy.
There was mixed climbing to M0.5. The texture of the gully was akin to age-hardened coffee cake. It was loose and a bit nasty. And exposed, with a long, long fall off left. I minced on up, cursing myself all the while. Eventually things got loose enough and the scrumbling got spooky enough (I don't solo much, at all) that I wanted out of the thing, so I found a way off left and gingerly up and around, onto a snow-covered rock slope with a runout into a whole lot of nothing. The gumby shall not fall. |
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